should suffer such a terrible fate. All at once, the memory of how he had left home came crashing back. Hanno cursed. ‘I’m a fool.’
Suniaton threw him a confused look. ‘What is it?’
‘I didn’t ask for Tanit’s blessing as I walked out of the front door.’
Suniaton’s face paled. Although she was a virginal mother figure, Tanit was the most important Carthaginian deity. She was also the goddess of war. Angering her carried the risk of severe punishment. ‘It’s not a crime to forget,’ he said, before quickly adding, ‘but you could ask pardon of her anyway.’
In a cold sweat, Hanno did as his friend advised.
Great Mother, he pleaded. Forgive me. Do not forget us, please.
The next morning, Hanno had not returned home. In itself, that was not particularly unusual. But the hours passed, and still there was no sign of him. At midday, Bostar began to look worried. He paced up and down the corridor from the courtyard, checking the street for his youngest brother. By the early afternoon, he could take it no more. ‘Where is Hanno?’
‘Nursing a hangover somewhere, probably,’ Sapho growled.
Bostar pursed his lips. ‘He’s never been this late before.’
‘Maybe he heard about Father’s speech, and got even drunker than normal.’ Sapho looked at their father for approval. Surprisingly, he got none.
Malchus’ face now also registered concern. ‘You’re right, Bostar. Hanno always comes back in time for his lessons. I’d forgotten, but this afternoon, at his request, we were to discuss the battle of Ecnomus again.’
Sapho frowned. ‘He wouldn’t miss it then.’
‘Precisely.’
Suddenly, the situation felt very different.
A familiar voice cut through their dismay. ‘Malchus? Are you at home?’
All three turned to see a stout, bearded man appearing in the courtyard’s entrance. A long cream linen robe reached almost to his feet, and a headcloth concealed his hair.
Bowing, Malchus hurried forward. ‘Bodesmun. I am honoured by your presence.’
Behind him, Sapho and Bostar were also making obeisance. Eshmoun was not their family’s favoured god, but he was an important deity. His temple at the top of Byrsa Hill was the largest in Carthage, and Bodesmun was one of the senior priests there.
‘Can I offer you refreshment?’ asked Malchus. ‘Some wine or pomegranate juice? Bread and honey?’
Bodesmun waved a podgy hand in dismissal. His round, gentle face was worried. ‘Thank you, but no.’
Malchus was nonplussed. He had little in common with a peace-loving priest. ‘How can I help you?’ he enquired awkwardly.
‘It’s about Suniaton.’
Malchus’ response was instant. ‘What’s Hanno made him do?’
Bodesmun managed a weak grin. ‘It’s nothing like that. Have you seen Suni today?’
Malchus’ heart gave an involuntary leap. ‘No. I could ask you the same about Hanno.’
The smile left Bodesmun’s face. ‘He hasn’t returned yet either?’
‘No. Apparently, the tunny were running in their thousands yesterday. Any fool with a net could catch a boatload, and I’m sure they did the same. When Hanno didn’t return, I presumed they had gone out to celebrate,’ Malchus replied heavily, his imagination already running riot. ‘It’s odd that you should arrive when you did. I was just starting to get worried. Hanno has never skipped a lesson on tactics before.’
‘Suni has never missed the devotions in the temple at midday either.’
Bostar’s face fell. Even Sapho frowned.
The two older men stared at each other in disbelief. All at once, they had a great deal in common. Bodesmun was close to tears. ‘What should we do?’ he asked in a quavering voice.
Malchus refused to let the panic that had flared in his breast grow. He was a soldier. ‘There’ll be some easy explanation to this,’ he declared. ‘We might have to check every inn and whorehouse in Carthage, but we’ll find them.’
Bodesmun’s normal commanding demeanour had disappeared. He nodded meekly.
‘Sapho! Bostar!’
‘Yes, Father,’ they replied in unison, eager to be given something to do. By now, Bostar was distraught. Sapho didn’t look happy either.
‘Rouse as many soldiers as you can from the barracks,’ Malchus ordered. ‘I want the city combed from top to bottom. Concentrate on their favourite haunts around the ports. You know the ones.’
They nodded.
Despite his best efforts, Malchus’ temper frayed. ‘Go on, then! When you’re done, find me here, or in the Agora.’
Bostar turned at the entrance to the corridor. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Talk to the fishermen at the Choma,’ Malchus answered grimly. His mind was full of the storm that had battered the city the previous night. ‘I want to know if anyone saw them yesterday.’ He glanced at Bodesmun. ‘Coming?’
The priest pulled himself together. ‘Of course.’
With a sinking feeling in their bellies, they left the house.
On the Choma, Malchus and Bodesmun found scores of the fishermen who plied the waters off the city. Their day’s work was long done. With their boats tied up nearby, they lounged about, gossiping and repairing holes in their nets. Unsurprisingly, the appearance of a noble and a high-ranking priest filled them with awe. Most went their entire lives without ever being in the presence of someone so far up the social scale. Their guttural argot was also quite hard to understand. Consequently, it was hard to get a word of sense out of them.
‘We’re wasting our time. They’re all idiots,’ Malchus muttered in frustration. He forced himself not to scream and lash out with rage. Losing his temper would be completely counterproductive. The best chance of discovering anything about their sons’ disappearance was surely to be found here.
‘Not all, perhaps.’ Bodesmun indicated a wiry figure sitting on an upturned boat, whose silver hair marked him out as older than his companions. ‘Let’s ask him.’
They strolled over. ‘Well met,’ Bodesmun said politely. ‘The blessings of the gods be upon you.’
‘The same to you and your friend,’ replied the old man respectfully.
‘We come in search of answers to some questions,’ Malchus announced.
The other nodded, unsurprised. ‘I was thinking that you were after more than fresh fish.’
‘Were you out on the water yesterday?’
There was a faint smile. ‘With the tunny running like they were? Of course I was. It’s just a shame that the weather changed so early, or it would have been the best day’s catch in the last five years.’
‘Did you see a small skiff, perhaps?’ Malchus asked. ‘With two crew. Young men, well dressed.’
His urgent tone and Bodesmun’s anxious stance would have been obvious to all but an imbecile. Nonetheless, the old man did not answer immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes.
Each instant that went by felt like an eternity to Malchus. He clenched his fists to stop himself from grabbing the other by the throat.
It was Bodesmun who cracked first. ‘Well?’
The old man’s eyes opened. ‘I did spot them, yes. A tall lad and a shorter, stockier one. Well dressed, as you say. They’re out here regularly. A friendly pair.’
Malchus and Bodesmun gave each other a look full of hope, and fear.
‘When did you last see them?’
The old man’s expression became wary. ‘I’m not sure.’
Malchus knew when he was being lied to. A tidal wave of dread swamped him. There was only one reason for the other to withhold the truth. ‘Tell us,’ he commanded. ‘You will come to no harm. I swear it.’
The old man studied Malchus’ face for a moment. ‘I believe you.’ Taking a deep breath, he began. ‘When the wind rose sharply, I saw that a storm was coming. I quickly pulled my net on board and headed for the Choma. Everyone else was doing the same. Or so I thought. When I was safe on dry land, I saw one skiff still over the tunny. I knew it for the young men’s craft by its shape. At first I imagined that they had been consumed by greed
